


count on you

by poetictragedy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and making him loco, lucifer tearing down sammy's wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of being fine, something snaps in Sam and he has a complete mental breakdown;  Dean is, as always, there to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	count on you

Something creaks against the floor, the noise barely there, and Sam tosses over in his bed, hands shoving under the pillow. His eyes are wide open, locked on the wall in front of him, watching as shadows dance in the soft moonlight. There’s no other noise in the room save for Dean’s breathing and occasional snoring, which tells Sam that he’s awake — that this is  _real_. 

His breath comes in harsh pants, a cold sweat starting on the nape of his neck, slicking down until it reaches his shoulders.  Sam shudders, grips the pillow tightly and curls up into a ball, bringing his knees toward his chest, trying not to make any noise. The bed squeaks underneath him and Sam yelps, shutting his eyes tightly, but all he sees behind the lids is Lucifer: the Devil, the Morning Star — Sam’s absolute worst nightmare, come back to reclaim him.

Lucifer’s inside Sam’s brain, wreaking absolute havoc; pulling down walls Sam put up on his own, letting memories flood into his mind, things he’s put away, things he never wants to think of again.  Thoughts of Hell — the fire, the damned, the  _torture_  — scramble into Sam’s mind and he whimpers, biting down on the pillow in an effort to muffle his noises.

The thoughts get worse and soon Sam is reduce to a sweaty, shuddering pile on the middle of his bed, eyes clenched tightly, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyelids. He whimpers - loudly - and turns onto his back, breath caught into his throat and strangled noise leaving his lips.

Sam wants to scream, wants to call out for Dean — for help, for  _anything_  — but the words don’t form, don’t leave his throat, and he whimpers helplessly.  Inside his head, Lucifer laughs - the noise reverberating off Sam’s skull, echoing throughout - and he finally screams, letting it out, his eyes snapping open.

And Dean wakes up the  _second_  after Sam starts screaming and sits straight up in bed, gasping for his own breath, listening to his brother pant for his. Turning the light on, Dean gets out of bed quickly and makes his way to Sam’s, pushing the sheets off of him, noticing that they’re soaked.

Sweat coats Dean’s hands and he chews on the corner of his lip, his fingers shaking as he they move toward Sam’s hair, carding through the soaking wet locks. He pushes Sam’s bangs away from his forehead and sits on the edge of the bed, moving his fingers down the curve of Sam’s jaw, whispering, “Shh, Sammy — it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Dean,” Sam manages to croak out, his hands darting forward, sweaty fingers gripping Dean’s shirt tightly, pulling it away from his skin. “ _Dean_ , hurts.” His voice is childish and pathetic, sad and soft, and Dean’s heart breaks when he hears it, moving his hand along Sam’s cheek slowly, shushing him quietly.

Sam writhes on the bed, but his tremors slow down to Dean’s touch, focusing on the rough, calloused skin moving against his own sweat slick skin. “Burns,” he chokes out, pulling on Dean’s shirt like it’s a goddamn lifesaver, “ _fucking burns, Dean_.” The last sentence comes out as a whimper and Dean swallows thickly, nodding as he moves his hand to Sam’s forehead, touching it lightly.

“Jesus, Sammy,” he mutters, feeling how scorching hot Sam’s skin feels underneath his fingers, before pulling them away. “Let’s get you in the tub, okay?” Sam nods in response and sits up, wrapping both arms around Dean’s neck like a child and Dean thinks of all the times he’s taken care of Sam, his heart and gut twisting.

Wrapping his arms around Sam, Dean stands and pulls him up until he’s vertical, never pulling his arms away.  Sam shakes in his hold and Dean pulls him close, half-dragging him to the bathroom, before flipping the light on and sitting Sam down on the toilet seat.

“Gonna get you in a cold bath okay, Sammy?” Dean speaks quietly, moving to the tub to turn it on, putting the stopper over the drain. When he turns around, he notices that Sam’s shaking considerably less and he smiles softly at that, before moving to stand in front of his brother again. “Gotta take your pajamas off, okay?”

“Dean —” Sam starts, voice shaking worse than his body.

“Shh, I know — it burns, but I’m going to make it better.” Dean pulls Sam up into a standing position and pushes his pajama bottoms off, feeling Sam’s arms wrap around his neck.  His hot forehead presses against the crook of Dean’s neck and he swallows, nudging Sam’s bottoms down with his foot.

Sam steps out of the fabric and Dean eases him toward the tub, holding onto him until he’s got both feet in the water. He steps back, watching Sam slip down into the tub and he shuts the water off, kneeling on the floor, moving the water with his hand.

He watches Sam carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “How’s that feel?”

“Better,” Sam whispers, leaning his head back against the shower tiles, eyes fluttering shut.  A few tears slide down his cheeks and Dean lifts his free hand, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb. “Thank you, Dean..”

Snorting softly, Dean shakes his head and mumbles, “S’what big brothers are for, right?” Sam smiles softly at that and turns his head to the side, blinking his red and tear-rimmed eyes open, settling them on Dean’s face.

“You’re so pretty.”

“And you’re delusional,” Dean replies quickly, smirking at Sam, “but thanks.  You are too, y’know.”  He moves his hand down the curve of Sam’s jaw again, cupping it, feeling him shake his head slowly.  Rolling his eyes, Dean leans in and kisses Sam’s forehead, nodding as he whispers against his skin, “You are.”

“M’not,” Sam says in that petulant child voice, his eyes shutting as he takes a deep breath, “I saw Lucifer again; I — I thought about all those things that happened in Hell, Dean.  The fire, the screams, the fucking torture.”

“Shh, Sammy — it’s all over now.  None of that was real, okay? This right here?” Dean thumbs across Sam’s cheek slowly, smiling before continuing, “This is real — s’the realest thing you’ll ever feel, you got me?”

Nodding his head, Sam sighs and gently pushes Dean’s hand away before submerging himself in the water as much as he can. He knees are bent awkwardly, but Sam manages to get his head under the water, holding his breath until he comes back up, exhaling sharply. When he straightens up, Sam pushes his hair back and blinks his eyes open, drops of water sliding off the ends of his eyelashes.

Dean smiles at Sam and sits back on his heels. “Ready to get out and get dry?”

“I guess so,” Sam mutters before standing up, sloshing the water and getting Dean wet, which causes them both to laugh;  Dean doesn’t complain about the water when he hears Sam laugh. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I need to change anyway — now I have more of an excuse to do so.” Dean winks at Sam and gets to his feet, turning to grab a towel, handing it to Sam when he turns back around, watching his brother wrap it around his waist.

They walk into the room and Dean moves to Sam’s bag, dropping to his knees to search through it; he grabs a pair of boxers and a tank-top, before standing. Turning on his heels, Dean watches Sam dry off, the towel moving over his tanned skin slowly, making goosebumps break out on Dean’s skin.

He steps forward, tossing the clothes onto his bed.. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Sam smiles at Dean and runs the towel over his hair, mussing it up a bit before pulling it away, dropping the towel to the floor. He grabs the boxers and slips them on quickly, snapping the waistband against his hips before grabbing the tank top.  Slipping it over his head, he looks over at Dean and smiles, pulling the fabric down until it’s snug on his torso.

Dean smiles back and walks over to the bed, sitting down and leaning against the headboard, watching Sam quietly.  Standing at the end of the bed, Sam chews on his lower lip, running a hand through his wet hair, looking at Dean before mumbling, “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

And Dean tries not to giggle at how childish Sam looks right now (frankly, he thinks it’s  _adorable_ ) and he nods his head, patting the bed beside him. “‘Course, Sammy,” he replies before slipping down further onto the bed, pulling the sheet over his body.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam moves to the other side of the bed and climbs onto it, laying as close to Dean as possible.  Dean smiles and moves his arm around Sam’s shoulder, a hand finding his brother’s, their fingers interlocking. 

“Now go to sleep, Moose.” Dean mutters the words and turns his head, kissing the top of Sam’s, laughing against his damp hair, “And you’re gonna wake up with major bedhead in the morning, from going to sleep with soaking wet hair.”

Laughing, Sam moves his head to Dean’s chest and grumbles, “Not gonna do that if I lay my head here all night.”  Dean thinks about that for a second, laughs, and nods his head slowly, running his fingers along Sam’s bicep, humming  _Hey Jude_  under his breath.

“I’m still not — not okay, but you’re making it better.” The words come out of no where and Dean stops humming, opening his eyes to stare at the wall beside them. He swallows thickly, thumbing across the back of Sam’s hand slowly, nodding his head as he exhales slowly through his mouth.

“That’s okay,” he lies, trying to make it sound as convincing as possible before pulling away, watching as Sam sits up, pouting slightly.  And Dean smiles, cupping Sam’s chin before pulling him close, kissing his lips softly.  There’s barely anything there but Dean feels Sam shudder and smiles, moving both hands to either of his hips, holding on. “But you’ll be okay eventually,” Dean whispers against Sam’s lips, wetting his own and licking his brother’s at the same time.

Sam nods his head, lets his eyes flutter shut, and breathes softly against Dean’s lips, taking his breath into his own lungs. They sit like that for a moment, not moving, not saying anything — just breathing each other in.  It’s almost enough to make Sam forget about the nightmares - to forget about Lucifer - and he does, for a moment, before Lucifer appears behind his eyelids again.

This time, Sam sees himself kissing Lucifer instead of Dean and he whimpers, snapping his eyes open, holding onto Dean tightly.  And Dean doesn’t even have to ask what’s going on; he wraps both arms around Sam and lays back with him in his arms, head resting on his shoulder.

“Shh, Sammy; don’t think about him, okay? Focus on my voice and what I’m saying, can you do that for me?” Sam nods, whimpering against Dean’s neck. “Good, you’re doing great, Sam.  He can’t hurt you, did you know that?” Again, Sam nods his head but only once, before shaking it.  ”Well, he can’t hurt you — not when I’ve got you, okay? Not when you’re in  _my_  arms, safe and sound, Lucifer can’t even touch you; he’s not here, Sam — he’s in the Cage, in the Pit, back where he belongs…”

Dean keeps talking, rambling insistently, talking nonsense until Sam stops shaking, until his whimpering stops and his breath falls softly against Dean’s neck.  When Sam calms down, Dean whispers against the top of his head, saying things like ‘I love you,’ and ‘I’ll never let him hurt you again,’ softly, his words seeming to calm his brother down even more.

After half an hour, Sam pulls away and cups either side of Dean’s face before kissing him fiercely, but not pushing it into anything more.  The kiss throws him off but Dean returns it, lifting a hand to thread in Sam’s hair, feeling water slide down his fingers and hand, moving down his wrist.

When they ease away, Sam wets his lips and leans his forehead against Dean’s, the tips of their nose touching. He breathes softly, feeling Dean’s rough stubble underneath his hands, grazing his palms over it slowly, committing the feeling to memory. 

Dean shudders when Sam rubs his jaw and cheek, his breath falling heavy against Sam’s lips, his eyes clenched shut.  He moves his own hands to Sam’s back and moves both of them up and down his spine, feeling the soft fabric of his tank top slide against his fingertips.

“I love you,” Sam whispers after a prolonged silence and Dean smiles.

“I love you too,” he mutters back, kissing Sam softly before laying him on his side, keeping him close.  Sam laughs softly and moves a hand to the back of Dean’s head, his fingertips carding through the hair that rests at the base of his skull, sighing happily. 

Breathing slowly, Sam closes his eyes and brushes his nose against Dean’s, whispering, “Night Dean.”

Dean smiles and watches Sam carefully, not intending on going to sleep anytime soon. He listens to Sam’s breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against his own, and tries not to laugh when Sam starts to snore lightly.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” he whispers, kissing Sam’s lips  _lightly_ , before laying his head back on the pillow, watching Sam the entire night, holding him close whenever he whimpers or show signs of having another nightmare.


End file.
